


Pylades Unaccepted

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, M/M, Torture, ghost!Enjolras, nothing too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:29:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Vive la République! I am one of them!"<br/>“The man lies. He is not one of us.”</p>
<p>Enjolras makes a last-ditch attempt to save Grantaire from dying at the barricades. It does not go according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pylades Unaccepted

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt on tumblr asking for my take on if Grantaire had survived the barricades.
> 
> Usual disclaimer applies as always to the tune of not owning anything save my own typos as always.

Enjolras faced the National Guard, defiant, flag still clenched in his fist. He bared his chest, daring them to take the shot, when suddenly, there was the drunken cry of “Vive la République! I am one of them!”

It was as if the entire rest of the world fell away, leaving only Enjolras and Grantaire staring at each other. There were a million different things that Enjolras wanted to say in that moment, to tell Grantaire with what could easily be his dying breath. Instead, he silently pleaded that Grantaire would understand, and with his eyes locked on Grantaire’s, he said loudly, “The man lies. He is not one of us.”

Grantaire stopped in his tracks, swaying slightly. His mouth opened slightly, eyes flooded with hurt, but then the guns sounded and Enjolras knew no more.

At least, he knew no more until he awoke, a pale figure in the back room of the Musain, his body and the bodies of his friends still lying on the ground. Combeferre stood there as well, frowning at him. “Where is Grantaire?” he asked.

Enjolras would have blushed had he been able. “He…I did not want him to die. Not on our account. So I said he was not one of us.”

“Enjolras…” Combeferre looked troubled. “He should have died with you. You should have allowed him that much at least.”

The look Enjolras gave Combeferre bordered on desperate. “You know…you alone know how I feel about him,” he whispered. “I could not…I could not let him do what he planned, not when there was a chance, however small, for him to be happy.”

Combeferre frowned even deeper. “If you think he would be happy that he lives while you are dead…mon ami, you are wrong.” He looked behind him, at something Enjolras could not see. “Our friends are waiting for me. Enjolras…” Trailing off, he clapped Enjolras on the shoulder.”Try and put this to right before you join us.”

Then he turned and walked into nothingness, leaving Enjolras standing there, alone. Enjolras frowned and looked around, unsure of where to even begin looking for Grantaire, let alone how he was supposed to make this right. “Grantaire,” he whispered, almost desperately, and the world seemed to spin, depositing him in the corner of a dark, dank prison cell.

Grantaire sat in the middle of the cell, bound to the chair on which he sat. Across from him sat a man in pristine military dress. Over Grantaire’s shoulder, Enjolras could see a hulking figure, brandishing a whip. Grantaire’s shirt was torn, and Enjolras thought he could see blood.

"I’ll ask you again," the first man said patiently, "what were the names of your compatriots?"

When Grantaire remained silent, the man gestured and his companion raised the whip. Enjolras forced himself to watch, to listen to every of Grantaire’s cries, knowing that this was his fault, that he had done this to Grantaire.

After several minutes, just when Enjolras thought that he was not going to be able to take anymore, the man gestured again, and the whips subsided. At another gesture, the second man yanked Grantaire’s head back by his hair.

Enjolras was shocked to see the change in Grantaire’s face, and wondered how many days it had been, how much of this torture Grantaire had already endured. He looked painfully thin, and had bruises and a split lip that attested to further abuse. Still, his eyes were bright, if pained, and Enjolras took hope from that.

"For the last time, the only thing I need is their names, and all this ends."

Grantaire smiled, the split in his lip cracking and sending blood trickling down his chin. “Vive la République,” he said hoarsely.

Enjolras was torn between laughter and crying. There was a time for bravery, and while Enjolras’s heart lept to hear words he never thought would be uttered by Grantaire of all people, it also broke because this was unnecessary, because Grantaire was not protecting anyone who needed protecting. “Grantaire, you idiot, just tell them what they want to know,” he muttered, looking anguished.

To his surprise, Grantaire’s eyes seemed to meet his, and his mouth parted slightly, as if in surprise. Then he looked back at his captor and said, voice stronger, “I am one of them.”

The man sighed and leaned back in his chair, waving a dismissive hand. “You have outlived whatever usefulness you once had,” he told Grantaire, sounding almost bored. “You will get your wish of dying tomorrow morning. Take him away.”

The guard untied Grantaire’s bonds and heaved him to his feet, dragging him toward the door. As he was dragged away, Grantaire looked over his shoulder to meet Enjolras’s horrified stare again.

Without knowing how he got there, Enjolras found himself in Grantaire’s cell, a tiny, damp space. Grantaire had been unceremoniously dumped face-down on the floor, and Enjolras rushed to his side, expecting his hands to sink right through him, but instead, they closed on Grantaire’s shoulder, rolling him over. Cracking one eye open, Grantaire breathed, “Enjolras,” reaching up to touch Enjolras’s cheek.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered, clutching Grantaire’s hand. “Oh, mon ami, what have you done?”

Grantaire smiled slightly. “I have done nothing that you wouldn’t were our places reversed.” Enjolras was silent, unable to deny it. “Although of course, I cannot say as you would offer to die with me the way I did.”

Enjolras’s eyes snapped to Grantaire’s. “I would have died with you in a heartbeat, were it in my power. But there was a chance, a chance that you might live, and I…it was a chance I had to take.”

“It was not your decision to make.” Grantaire did not sound angry, mostly just sad. “You died alone, and knowing that hurts more than anything. I know…I know that I was not worthy of dying at your side, but I would rather it was me than you dying on your own.”

“Grantaire…” Enjolras sounded pained, and he asked quietly, “Is that what you think? That I stopped you from dying with me because you were unworthy?”

Grantaire raised his chin. “Is that not why you stopped me?”

Enjolras shook his head vehemently. “No! That is the furthest thing from the truth! I stopped you because I wanted you to live! I would not have had you needlessly throw your life away for a cause in which you never believed, not when it was in my power to ensure otherwise! You are…” He broke off, voice softening, and whispered, “You are far too important to me for that.”

Blinking in surprise, Grantaire said, “Throwing my life away would have hardly been needless, for it would have been for the only thing I have ever believed in: you.”

They stared at each for a long moment, and then, uncertainly, Enjolras reached out, drawing Grantaire to him. Grantaire came willingly, settling into Enjolras’s embrace, and pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to Enjolras’s lips. “I have always believed in you.”

Enjolras bowed his head. “I should have let you die with me. Knowing now that you…that you feel the same for me as I do you…”

“It matters not,” said Grantaire after a long moment, relaxing against Enjolras. “I will die tomorrow just the same as I would have in the Musain.”

“You cannot die, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, his words whispered against Grantaire curls as he held him as close as he could. “You should go on, should live. It’s what I wanted for you, not this. Not dying here, alone.”

Grantaire leaned back against him. “I am not alone,” he murmured. “You are here.”

Enjolras shook his head, even though Grantaire could not see him with his face pressed against Enjolras’s chest. “I am dead,” he said sadly. “I do not believe I count.”

“You count to me.” Grantaire’s statement was flat, but rang with truth. “You have always counted to me. And while I wish I had died with you at the Musain, knowing you are here with me is all the comfort I need to face my own death. Besides, as you say, you are dead.” His tone became more curious than anything. “And if you are dead, yet I can touch you, can feel you, can see you when no one else can, then that can only mean one thing.”

Bowing his head, Enjolras nodded, knowing exactly where Grantaire was going, as much as he did not want to admit it out loud. “Because you are already dead,” Enjolras whispered, his fingers trembling as he carded them through Grantaire’s matted curls. “Because while your heart still beats and your brain still functions, your soul…”

“My soul died with you,” Grantaire finished, his voice gentle. “So it is no great thing for me to die here, then. If I am already dead in the only way that matters.”

Enjolras pulled away from Grantaire, blinking back tears. “I would not have you dead at all. The only thing I wanted in that moment was for you to survive, to live, to grow to be an elderly man. To be happy.”

Grantaire reached out and took his hand, holding it tightly in his own. “And yet the only way I could have been happy would have been with you.”

Sighing, Enjolras said softly, “Would that we were born in a different time. Would that the revolution had worked and we could have been together. Would that any number of things were different for us.”

“You are here now,” Grantaire said, closing his eyes. “And were I to be truthful, as truthful as ever I have been, I would not trade that for any other world. Everything that has happened, everything has driven us to this moment. Nothing matters beyond that.”

Enjolras pulled him even closer. “Mayhaps you are right,” he whispered.

Grantaire smiled. “I usually am.” Enjolras could not help himself, chuckling slightly, and Grantaire curled up against him. “Let me sleep here,” he whispered. “Until I die.”

If Enjolras had had breath, it would have caught in his throat. “Grantaire…” he started, then stopped and closed his eyes. “I am not going anywhere. Sleep as you are able.” As Grantaire relaxed even further into sleep (the first time he had truly slept since Enjolras’s death), Enjolras leaned down to kiss him lightly on the forehead. He whispered, “He who dies here dies in the radiance of the future, and we are entering a tomb all flooded with the dawn.”

The next morning, when Grantaire awoke before the dawn, he pressed a kiss to Enjolras’s lips. “It will not be long now,” Enjolras told him, holding him still. “I heard the guards. They will come for you shortly.”

“Well, better not to drag it out, I suppose,” Grantaire said lightly. He looked up at Enjolras and asked quietly, “Will you stay with me?”

Enjolras’s grip on his hand tightened. “Always. If you’ll permit it.”

Grantaire just laughed slightly and kissed Enjolras on the cheek. “That, mon amour, is a question that doesn’t even bear asking because the answer is so obvious.”

And so they stood hand-in-hand before the firing squad, the way they should have in the backroom of the Musain, though that did not matter now. Because Enjolras was here now, with Grantaire, their fingers laced tightly together, and as the bullets pierced Grantaire’s body, it was with a smile on his face, such that he did not even feel the pain.

Enjolras’s grip on his hand never faltered, and they stood together, looking at each other (ignoring Grantaire’s body on the ground). Then Enjolras reached out, cupping Grantaire’s cheek with his hand, running his thumb across Grantaire’s cheekbone. “I am sorry,” he murmured, “sorry that it ended up like this.”

Grantaire caught his hand and held it against his cheek. “I am not,” he said simply. “You are here. That is all I have ever needed. There is nothing you have done for which I blame you.”

Though Enjolras still looked unconvinced, he leaned in and kissed Grantaire. “I shall not leave your side again,” he promised. “Now come; our friends await us.”

Grantaire kissed him once more, looking content. “Lead the way, mon amour. Where you go, I will always follow.” And true to his word, hand still laced with Enjolras’s, Grantaire followed Enjolras into the dark.


End file.
